Little J is regressing a bit at night. Lately she’s been trying to climb into bed with us, so we’ve re-instituted the princess pull-out sofa bed right next to ours. I’m sort of hoping that just knowing that it’s there is comfort enough for her.
She’s also been begging and pleading with me to breastfeed again. No-go. It was a heart-wrenching weaning process the first time, and apparently, some five and a half years later, she’s still not entirely over it.
A regression that I do enjoy is that J wants me to sing to her at night again. Oh, I did quite a bit of singing in my new-mama years. I remember one Christmas I decided to multi-task by printing out lyrics to less well-known carols, figuring that as long as I was spending all this time pacing and singing, I may as well finally get around to memorizing “Good King Wenceslas” while I was at it.
Our favorite lullabye is “Goodnight” from Laurie Berkner’s Victor Vito album. If you don’t know it, you can click here for the MP3 download and hear a clip. It’s a sweet, easy little song to sing, and best of all, it can continue endlessly as you insert your own baby animal and animal sound as you go. So we’ve both been enjoying the singing.
M noticed the princess bed tonight and gave a supposed-to-be-under-the-parental-radar little scornful snort and was subjected to a lecture. Truth is, I’m a little annoyed, too, but I understand regression.
Just over the weekend my sister and I were talking about my Thumb Habit. I was a thumb-sucker. No: that’s not true. I am a thumb-sucker. I haven’t put my thumb into my mouth for more than 15 seconds for decades because I’m convinced that if I did, it would settle in just perfectly and I would be back On the Thumb. The delightful, comforting, joyful thumb. My left, which I’ve always called the chocolate one. I quit thumb-sucking once for quite a long time and regressed–gosh, it had to have been at least 4th grade–after I accidentally warped a bunch of my sister’s records by reorganizing them next to the heating unit in the living room. She was Angry. I was Traumatized. The thumb was there. Gosh, even typing about it makes me Assume the Thumb-Sucking Position, which also includes some harmless forearm stroking that costs nothing in dental work and thus has continued into my forties.
Neither of my girls were ever interested in their thumbs. Frankly, I was a little disappointed. Mostly sad for them, that they’d miss the Joy of the Thumb.
Oh, well. At least the girls know that, if necessary, Mommy will sing herself hoarse.